Cat’s Cradle
Ambassador Minton went to the seaward parapet with his memorial wreath still in its case. And he delivered an amazing speech in honor of the Hundred Martyrs to Democracy. He dignified the dead, their country, and the life that was over for them by saying the “Hundred Martyrs to Democracy” in island dialect. That fragment of dialect was graceful and easy on his lips.
The rest of his speech was in American English. He had a written speech with him—fustian and bombast, I imagine. But, when he found he was going to speak to so few, and to fellow Americans for the most part, he put the formal speech away.
A light sea wind ruffled his thinning hair. “I am about to do a very un-ambassadorial thing,” he declared. “I am about to tell you what I really feel.”
From the archives
·
1870
La Bonne Chanson
The morning sun serenely warms and gilds
The rye and corn still damp in dewy fields,
The sky has kept the freshness of the night.
One wanders out just for the sake of it,
Beside the river with dim yellow weeds,
Along a grass path edged by alder-trees.
The air is sharp. At times a bird will soar,
Bearing some honey from the hedge, or straw,
And it's reflection lingers, when it's gone.
That's all.
But it delights the pensive man,
For, bright and gentle, with a swift caress
It's stirred his dream of wondrous happiness,
Recalled a girl, the charming vision,
The white and sparkling apparition
The poet dreams of, and the man holds dear,
Invoking in his prayers, though some may sneer,
The spouse he has found at last, the soul adored
Which, from the first, his soul has mourned, implored.
Read more of this excerpt...
La Bonne Chanson
The morning sun serenely warms and gilds
The rye and corn still damp in dewy fields,
The sky has kept the freshness of the night.
One wanders out just for the sake of it,
Beside the river with dim yellow weeds,
Along a grass path edged by alder-trees.
The air is sharp. At times a bird will soar,
Bearing some honey from the hedge, or straw,
And it's reflection lingers, when it's gone.
That's all.
But it delights the pensive man,
For, bright and gentle, with a swift caress
It's stirred his dream of wondrous happiness,
Recalled a girl, the charming vision,
The white and sparkling apparition
The poet dreams of, and the man holds dear,
Invoking in his prayers, though some may sneer,
The spouse he has found at last, the soul adored
Which, from the first, his soul has mourned, implored.
Read more of this excerpt...
WORDS TO LIVE BY
1942 ·
NON-FICTION
NEW MUSIC